


You Belong To Me

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: You Belong to Me 'Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindness, Brainwashing, Horror, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Non-Consensual Bondage, Somnophilia, Steter Week, Vomiting, mentions of amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles's boyfriend ends up being a werewolf. He didn't see it coming. He doesn't see much now as it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I just want to write seventy-five thousand words of this. All of the shit leading up to it, all of the stuff afterwards. It was so hard to keep it to this one, contained segment - and I really hope it all makes sense because I was a little scattered in my thoughts.
> 
> Also, I am so sorry this is late for Steter Week. That was rude of me and I apologize.
> 
> More notes on all of this terrible shit below.

He was naked. His hands were bound, his ankle chained, and he couldn’t see anything at all, blindfolded. He hadn’t started to cry yet, but he was whimpering choked sounds in his throat that he obviously didn’t mean to make.

Trying for angry and just sounding scared, he said, “I’m gonna _kill_ you if you don’t let me go _now_.”

A familiar weight settled on the bed and he flinched. His heart stuttered, head turning towards the movement. A hand caught his free ankle, starting to snake up his calf, cuffing around his sensitive under-knee, trailing up to his thigh. It felt just like it always did, except now Stiles was close to screaming.

“No no no no no no no, _stop_.” he choked, breath ragged. He jerked his leg back uselessly. The man was too strong; he’d always been so _strong_. How had Stiles _missed_ that? He hissed, “Let me go or I’ll - “

“Such big words from my little hunter.” he cooed, pulling Stiles’s leg spread, settling in the space; and it was _his_ voice which distressed Stiles, a hot liquid sense of betrayal washing over him. “What are you going to do, my darling heart? What can you do?”

Stiles’s breath started to hitch louder then, more hollow, his mouth open as he tried to twist away. Peter shushed him soothingly. He ran a tender hand down his side.

“ _Stop_.” he harshed. “Let _go_.”

“Stiles, calm down. You’re just working yourself up.”

“Peter, what did you _do_ to me? Why are you - “ and he cut himself off, because he couldn’t even say it himself.

“Oh, darling,” Peter murmured, the hand petting his side drawing up to graze his cheek, smoothing over his brow. "I had to do this. You know I had to.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “No, Peter, you can still let me go.”

“Once you take the bite,” Peter started.

“Fuck you.” Stiles cut him off. “Fuck you, fuck you.” And he started trembling again. Peter tsked and wiped away some tears as Stiles strained to get away. " _Stop touching me_.”

Peter sat back, his hands to himself. He let Stiles cry for a moment. “Is that what you want?” He sounded mock-concerned, like he’d been waiting for this. Stiles didn’t say anything, and Peter stood, leaving the bed. The door opened and slammed shut. 

It took Stiles a few minutes to get his breath even. He was still shivering, but he’d stopped crying, his heart rate slowing just enough. He listened carefully for any signs of the other man - breathing, the creak of floorboards, anything at all - and found none.

He started with his hands. He tried every trick he knew, nearly dislocating his wrist, and was still stuck. The chain on his ankle he found, bending backwards to run strained fingers over it, was similarly unyielding. The heavy, cold metal cuff was fixed to something sturdy. He had to scoot to the end of the bed to get his hands on it, and he figured it was a bedpost, his heart thudding hard in his chest.

He tested the slack and saw he was afforded so little he couldn’t even set his captive foot on the ground. 

In one last effort, he tried to shake off his blindfold. The knot was loose and, laying back against the bed, using friction to pull apart the tie, he was able to get the light but opaque cover off.

Stiles blinked, and then blinked again. His breath hitched, a barely audible whimper escaping his lips. He shut his eyes tight and then opened them and cried out.

Everything was black - he couldn't seen anything at all. Immediately, panic was on him again, his pulse skyrocketing, his breath coming fast and shallow. He twisted on the bed, trying to get his arms free once more so he could touch his painless but aching lids. There must have been something else, something unfelt, obscuring his vision.

All of a sudden, every sound made in the room, the creak of the bed under his own weight, his own rustling of the covers, felt suspicious. Like something was creeping towards him. He tried to calm down, to still himself once more, but failed. He ended up on his side, fetal, breath harshing in and out but not making it anywhere it needed to go. He felt his heart beating everywhere, tremoring his arms and hands, aching in his throat and jaw, pounding in his head. 

The weight on the bed was back, although Stiles didn't know how long it had been, He was gasping for breath as he was nudged into a sitting position, his face tucked into Peter's neck, hands cradling him close.

"Oh, Stiles," he said, doing an impressive parody of sympathy. "You were supposed to leave the blindfold on so you wouldn't get scared. What am I going to do with you?"

"What did," Stiles gasped, and Peter shushed him, holding him even closer into the warmth and comfort of his body. Stiles was able to breathe a little better, pressed so tight against the man that his only choice was to match breaths with him. "What did you do to me?" he finally managed out, voice small, uneven. 

"I had to do it," Peter told him. "To keep you from getting away." He pulled back a little, a hand trailing over the young man's cheek and brow, petting back his sweatslick hair. "Don't worry. They're only damaged. Once you take the bite, you'll be able to see again. And I can take your pain as much as you need - you won't even feel it."

"You can't do this to me." Stiles shook, and he was crying again. "Peter, you can't _do this_."

"Darling, I'm doing this for _us_. I _love_ you." and he pressed a kiss on Stiles's forehead before he could jerk back the small amount he was allowed, still held tight in the man's strong, comforting arms. Peter rumbled in approval, and said something that nearly had Stiles retching.

" _You're my mate_."

"No." Stiles said, twisting his wrists again, shaking his head. " _No_ , Peter." 

"I'm surprised you haven't felt it," Peter hummed, and he guided the young man into him again, scenting his neck idly. He started to kiss him there as well. "Lots of humans report a pleasant pulsing from the bite. I'm sure you read about it in your studies. They say it _aches_ so sweetly." 

The man was soft and warm in his ear, his teeth starting to worry his lobe, tugging it the way Stiles had told him he liked before, a hand coming up to stroke its blushed red tip. Stiles squirmed at the sensation, groaning, feeling too hot. His wrists chaffed, a sharp burn taking over as he rubbed them raw, to the point of bleeding. Peter caught it immediately and drew back. "Oh, heartling. You've always had trouble keeping still. I must have tied them too tight." And, with the ease of an overly strong beast, he flipped Stiles onto his front, chest pushed down against the bed, wrists up. He tsked at whatever it was he saw. 

"I'm going to untie you for a moment and then secure one of your wrists to the headboard. I'm sure you understand," Peter said, reasonably, already freeing his wrists, "I can't completely trust you in this state."

Stiles groaned in relief his hands were unbound, and he wanted to draw them to his chest, cradle them close as he curled into himslef, but Peter caught his right arm before he could hide it and affixed it above his head. The left one Peter held delicately in his own hand. He shifted a little, his weight settling on Stiles's legs, keeping his down flat, leaning down towards his bloody, bruised wrist.

"Look at you." he murmured. He brought his tongue to the sore, messy damage, licking up the chapped blood. He hesitated over his inner wrist, breath hushing over it in a way that left Stiles shivering uncontrollably. 

His lips ghosted over the tender flesh that had been aching for Peter's touch without Stiles knowledge or consent. He nibbled at the skin, and Stiles couldn't help the open, keening sound he made. Heat was pooling everywhere, clouding his head, pulsing between his legs. He was quickly reduced to base, quaking noises as the man kissed his mating mark.

Stiles felt himself grow painfully hard in a matter of moments, cock rutting stiff against the bed as his hips shifted uselessly. This wasn't his body - couldn't be. He didn't react like this. He knew better than to get swept up. He wasn't this sensitive. He didn't fall this easily. 

"My, my," Peter remarked, pulling back but tracing his fingers over the unseen wound so Stiles wouldn't stop trembling with acute over-sensitivity. "I had no idea you'd react like _this_. But you've always been so responsive."

"Peter," Stiles panted, having barely enough presence of mind to manage words. "Stop. I don't want - "

"I wonder if I can get you to come, just from this."

"Peter, no, st - " and he broke off with a high, breathy wail as Peter leaned down to suck hard at the flesh. Stiles hips bucked up, his tied hand gripping the headboard. Peter hummed then, and bit at the throbbing skin.

Stiles was crying again, sobbing as Peter drew blood. His cock gave a sharp twitch, balls tightening. Peter lapped, then sucked at the abused skin, and Stiles came, hard and untouched and too quick, onto the bed beneath them.

Peter dropped his wrist finally and Stiles curled his arm to his chest weakly, shaking. "I hate you," he sobbed, rambling on, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

"No, you don't." Peter murmured, lowing himself over the back of the young man, laying half on top of him, warm and grounding. "I can hear your heart, remember?" And Stiles let out a frantic sob, he hand pushing into his hair, tugging it back, close to ripping it out altogether. His body hitched uncontrollably, and Peter just wrapped his arm around him. He nuzzled in behind him, trying to facilitate him calming down. Stiles _hated_ how well it worked.

* * *

When his breathing settled, Peter started to speak again. 

"I don't enjoy seeing you so upset." he said, "And I don't like that you can't see me. But you understand I'm doing what I have to for our best interest. Once you consent to the bite, everything will be fine again. And once you're a wolf, it'll be easier for you to accept my claim. I know its difficult now - a mating bite can affect humans in a very confusing way for them - but I promise it'll get better. You just have to stop fighting me."

"I won't." Stiles croaked out, a little numb. "I never will. You can't - " and his voice broke, so he paused, collecting himself. "You don't do this to someone you love."

"Well, maybe _you_ don't." Peter huffed, sounding amused at most. "We have vastly different Instincts. I know you'll come around eventually."

"Why do you even care if I say yes?" Stiles snapped, voice rising. "You obviously don't care about anything else I want."

Peter tsked and stroked the young man's hair. "You're my mate - I have to ask about this first."

"I hate you." Stiles found himself saying again. "You can't do this to me. I'm never going to say yes because I hate you. I hate everything about you. The day I agree to be a dog is the day I put myself down. I'd eat my gun before I'd - "

Peter rolled him onto his back, pressing him firmly into the mattress, cutting off his jittery, frantic speech. "Stiles," he hissed. "I'm being as considerate about this as I can. Another Alpha would have done much worse to you by now - and for even less of a fuss than your're raising. I absolutely recognize that you won't be able to accept this immediately, but _don't_ push me." His voice was harsh, growling, and he stopped himself abruptly. Stiles could hear his slow exhale. He started again, voice smoother. 

"I'm not above more drastic measures if you continue to be so obstinate. And, if you continue to refuse to take the bite, I'll be forced to pacify you. I won't let you go, but for the sake of our relationship, if I can't get you obedient, I'll need you docile. Declawed, I suppose."

Stiles heart had slipped a beat. He was afraid to breathe too hard. He could tell that Peter was right over him, but being unable to know for sure was scaring him beyond belief. "Declawed?"

Peter's hand was on his chest, warm, centered. He _hmm_ ed an affirmation. "I was thinking about boxing you if you don't come around, but I'd hate to lose your mating bite. Especially now that I've seen what it does to you."

"Boxing?" Stiles swallowed, tremoring. He was trying to stay strong, but he had no idea what he was being threatened with, and he was already thrown, distressed. He didn't like the sound of the word - or any of the words Peter was saying. He wished he could see him, draw more meaning from his face. "I don't - "

"I know a good surgeon who would do it for me - it'd be perfectly safe. I'd probably let you keep one arm, just to keep my mark on you. But the rest would have to go. Besides, its easier for me if you're not totally helpless, for convenience reasons." Stiles felt lightheaded, nauseous. His heart was thumping away. "I could bury you in your body so easily." he continued, "No one would stop me. I'd be the only person who could find you. And, to be honest," he hummed, light, his hand trailing down Stiles's arm, flirting over his bite, "I don't find the whole image entirely unappealing."

"No," Stiles gagged out. "No, please, don't - " He felt bile rising. "Peter, I'm gonna be sick."

He pushed up, but couldn't quite make it all the way off of the bed, vomiting up over the sheets beside him, He gagged again, heaving a second time, spewing down his chin, his free hand caught by Peter as he shushed him, squeezing it in comfort as he spat the taste out of his mouth.

"Oh, darling," Peter said, easing him back down on the clean side of the bed. A kind hand pressed against Stiles's flushed forehead and cheek, another hand producing a Kleenex from who knew where, wiping off his chin. A soft kiss pressed to his forehead, Peter stood to leave, telling him he'd clean the mess up and find something for his stomach. 

"You know I'll take care of you no matter what." Peter said, distant, probably at the door. "You have nothing to worry about."

Stiles said nothing and Peter must have brought him some sort of sleep aid because he was out in the next ten minutes.

* * *

Stiles was being stretched open when he woke up again. His cock was hot and leaking, legs tense, one still secured to the bedpost. The sheets had been changed, his wrists were tied behind his back again, and Peter had three slick fingers up his ass, scissoring him wet and loose.

"Shh, shh," Peter hushed as Stiles's heart picked up double time and he squirmed in a futile effort to get away. "You're alright." He settled in closer, second hand snaking up his waist to his chest, pressing over his nervous heart. "I've got you."

"Peter, get out." Stiles said, firmly - except not firmly at all, his voice shaking and wobbly with emotion. Peter twisted his fingers, curled them, brushing against his prostate. Stiles's hips jerked and he grit his teeth, "Peter, _stop_."

The man sighed and pulled his hand away. "Are you sure? I just thought you wouldn't mind a little extra attention before we start."

"Before we start what?" Stiles strained, already knowing. 

"We have to strengthen our mating bond." Peter told him plainly, and, very easily, he rolled them over so Stiles was straddling his thighs, the noisy leg chain rattling as he moved. There was the click of a cap opening and it sounded like Peter was slicking up his own cock. Stiles wriggled back, trying to dodge him, making a soft distressed noise in his throat as Peter caught him, hands on his naked hips, steadying him in place.

"It's nothing we haven't done." Peter soothed in a calm voice, a finger tracing a soft circle against Stiles's skin. "I get that you're hesitant, but it's in our best interest - and you've always enjoyed it in the past."

"I will not be complicit in my own rape." Stiles hissed, facing away from Peter even though it made no real difference.

"Rape?" Peter asked, astonished. "Oh, no, no, no. My heart, oh. no. I'd never rape you. I love you. You're my mate." and his hand came up to cup the younger man's jaw, gentle, like he was touching something precious, facing him forward.

Stiles made a low, agonized sound and tried once again to twist away. In response, Peter's grip turned bruising. 

"Of course," he added, "If you refuse to help me solidify our bond, I'll be forced to punish you. Let me assure you," he articulated, " You do not want that."

At a loss, fear pulsing through him in one continuous, hot surge, Stiles told him. "Peter, I can't. Just let me go, _please_. I can't do this." 

"It's not so bad." Peter promised, hands tender again, trailing down, tweaking a nipple as it passed. Stiles sobbed, half-horrified at the spike of pleasure spreading. "I'll feel so good inside of you, I always do; you _know_ that. I always make you come so hard - harder than anyone you've been with. No one else can fill your slutty little holes the way I can," and he touched him there as if to prove his point, "You said so yourself."

" _Stop_ \- "

"And once I knot you," Peter shuddered at the thought. "You'll love it. It's just what you need."

"No," Stiles shook his head frantically. "Please don't make me. Just stop. You can stop. Don't make - " and he cut himself off, too panicked and out of breath to go on. He heaved and hitched from his seat on Peter's lap, head bowing.

Peter was silent for a moment, and then said, "Beg me to rape you." Stiles froze. He didn't say anything, couldn't, and Peter continued, "I'm trying to compromise here. I understand this is difficult for you, so, if you beg me nicely enough, I'll rape you."

The noise Stiles made was lost, sorrowed. "Just don't. We don't have to."

"We do, we do." Peter assured him, reaching up to dry where tears were starting to fall. "Ask me; I'll do it for you. You know I will."

"Please rape me," Stiles choked out, words coming out stilted. His whole body was quivering from where he was perched. He wished he could hide his face. He wished he could see Peter's. 

"Say it again."

Stiles nearly sobbed. "Please _rape_ me, Peter. Please, please, please, just - " The hand on his cheek left and found his cock, squeezing around it so he'd bite his lip.

"Why, darling? Why should I?"

Stiles was now flat out crying, shaking violently. " _Because you love me_." he quaked, "Because I'm _begging_ you."

"Say please." Peter rumbled, and flipped their positions so Stiles was pinned under him. He reached up behind their heads to finds pillows, easing them under Stiles's hips, presenting them up. 

" _Please_." he keened.

"Tell me everything you want me to do."

"Turn me over." Stiles rushed. Peter finished his task, buried his face in the young man's throat. 

"No." Peter hummed, nipping at his neck.

"Please." he cried. Peter was guiding his free leg back, the chained one spreading out. He made a noise of approval as he pushed Stiles's knee into his chest. "Stop." Stiles pleaded, jerking weakly. " _Stop_."

"Breathe, Stiles. You don't want to make yourself sick again." He held him in place but didn't press in yet, giving Stiles a moment to collect himself. He took a deep breath, and the young man mirrored it, still trembling under his hands, hot all over. "What do you want me to do?"

"Let me go." Stiles whined. "Just let me go."

"Why do you _really_ want me to do?" Peter repeated.

Stiles took a shallow, hitching breath. "Rape me," he begged. "Just fuck me and get it over with." Words started to tumble out without thought. "Rape me, God, please. I need you - I need it. Just rape me. It's all I can take, please, oh, _God_."

"Be good for me and breathe." Peter murmured, and Stiles took in an immediate shaky inhale. "Good." he said and Stiles exhaled. He sounded relieved. Stiles hadn't noticed how concerned he had sounded. He kept at it then, breathing deliberately.

Peter lined up his cock and Stiles clenched his fists behind his back. The tip nudged in and his breathing picked up noisily.

"Stiles," Peter sighed, sounding put upon.

"Just do it." Stiles demanded. "Just - Please - Do it." and Peter pushed in slowly, Stiles's mouth falling open. His back arched as Peter eased in more, filling him up completely. It hurt, but not enough because it mostly just felt like the familiar, pleasant sex-ache he always got when Peter speared him full. He felt so overwhelmingly good and stretched that he moaned when Peter shifted their position, hitching his leg up more. 

Peter pulled back and snapped his hips forward once. A long, hollow sound was slammed out of Stiles, his toes curling. He could feel his cock spurt precome, Peter reaching between them to mess a hand through it, only making Stiles gasp and choke out a lost, " _Please_ , don't _do_ that." The man slid his hips home once more, knocking another wrecked moan out of Stiles, but he withdrew his hand. He took a moment to reposition and then started to pound in slowly, relentlessly. 

The throaty noise Stiles made could have been classified as a scream. 

It was so good. Peter's thick cock was perfect inside him - always had been - dragging along his prostate, grinding in to make Stiles moan and sob and babble. And Stiles was sobbing, because Peter was fucking him so well it felt even more shameful. 

" _Stop_." he wailed, twisting his head against the pillow as Peter just fucked him harder. Stiles knew he must be dark red in the face, pinking down his throat and chest, and he felt ashamed to look such a way under these circumstances.

Peter kissed his neck, then bit, then picked up speed, hips pistoning. It felt better and worse for a lot of reasons. Stiles wanted to hold on to something, Peter's back, his shoulders, his arms, and would have begged to touch him if he hadn't been too busy making piteous little punched out sounds each time he got slammed into. His leg, with its curled toes and foot, hooked around Peter's shoulder, and he was whining like a needy, slutty, disgusting pup.

"That's it." Peter panted, barely. "How's that? Want me to touch you?"

Stiles shook his head, tortured. "Please - no, no. God, Peter, oh, _please_."

Peter chuckled and wrapped a hot hand around his aching cock. Stiles could quite suddenly feel his wrist similarly throbbing. He need it untied - it was too sensitive for the coarse ropes. He wanted to put his mouth over it, to sooth the wild burn that was starting to spread. Or better yet, to quell the ache with Peter's mouth, or his knowing hands. Stiles wanted him to bite over it again, to draw blood and lap it up and feed it into his own open, sobbing mouth. He wanted to wear Peter's mark all over. 

He was so hard, so ready to spill, and he would have shot right then if Peter hadn't viced his hand around the base of his cock like a ring, making him buck and groan.

"Gonna knot you now." Peter told him, and sure enough, his cock seemed thicker by the thrust. Stiles felt his fear multiply exponentially, making him struggle helplessly on his back. "It will hurt at first - "

" _Take it out_." he rasped, desperately, voice harsh and hoarse, close to manic.

" - But you'll _love_ it. I promise, Stiles. I've got you." But his words were cut off by a shaking wail. Stiles leg kicked out against his back, his mouth falling wide open. It was way too much; he was certain he was gonna rip. And Peter just kept _growing_.

"Shh, darling." he was saying, jerking Stiles's cock in a tight fist, keeping him hard. Stiles keened and pleaded with him again to stop, to pull out. "I can't. You know I can't. I'm tied to you now." Peter hummed, and he sounded distracted, delirious. 

He was gently setting Stiles's leg down onto the bed, making the young man moan at the shift. Peter settled heavy over his trembling frame, close to lying completely on top of him. Stiles couldn't stand how relaxing the pressure and warmth of his body was.

Stiles's wrist still begged for attention, and he was stroked to completion, coming with a jerk and a muffled sound, almost biting through his lip. Peter, who Stiles knew was coming in frequent, hard spurts inside of him, brought a hand to his swollen lower lip, brushing over it thoughtlessly, as if trying to rub away the injury. He followed this by bringing his mouth there, and then his tongue, fucking Stiles's mouth lazily. He could feel he was still crying, silently, even as he reciprocated, but maybe Peter didn't notice. He probably just didn't care. 

"I love you," he told Stiles in between kisses, words hushed. He pumped his hips forward once, rocking the too big knot inside of him, mashing against his prostate, which had already been deliciously pressed by the over-big thing. 

Peter had been right, Stiles thought, humiliated, devastated, as the man tucked his face into his neck to scent him. He loved the way Peter's knot felt.

He hated Peter almost as much as he hated himself. But, God, in that afterglow, hands soothing down his feverish, trembling flesh, he loved the man so much it all seemed alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Peter, who had previously been in a relationship with Stiles, presumably under some false pretenses, blinds him and then forces a mating bite on him. He later forces Stiles to come through just stimulation of this mating bite. There is some mention of him boxing Stiles, which is the practice of cutting off the arms and legs of another person, which leads Stiles to vomit in a semi-detailed scene. Later on, Stiles wakes up with Peter prepping him, and then raping him, forcing Stiles to beg for it first, ending with him being knotted. All throughout, Stiles is subject to conflicting thoughts, not wanting any of this sexual contact, but, because of the mating bite, finding comfort in it. Peter is extremely manipulative and what he does in absolutely rape, even if he or Stiles indicate otherwise. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope it was okay! Have a nice day!
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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